


The Cards You Were Dealt

by orphan_account



Category: Love Island (Video Game)
Genre: Baking, Children, Dogs, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff, Friendship, Happy Ending, Love, Marriage, Reader-Insert, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:08:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A drabble exploring what comes after the villa for your MC and Bobby.
Relationships: Bobby/Main Character (Love Island)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 40





	The Cards You Were Dealt

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> So I recently finished my Love Island playthrough where my MC ended up with Bobby. I wanted to write a little "what happened after?" story, but I didn't want it to be only for my main character - so I wrote a reader/MC insert!
> 
> Please note that I tried to be vague for several things (favorite food, baby name, career choice, etc) but there are a few things that I did pull from my own decisions. Due to that, this includes some couples that might have only ended up together in my playthrough, specific endings (splitting the money, getting married), and some choices (kids/dog instead of career/cat) that others might not have wanted.
> 
> Hopefully this fulfills some of your own MC/Bobby post-game fantasies though! <3

Life as Mrs. McKenzie is everything you never knew you needed.

You’d suspected, of course, that Bobby was exactly what you’d been missing without ever even knowing it. The realization had hit you in the villa, when you’d laid wrapped in his lean arms, mulling over your relationship. He was an essential piece of your fundamental puzzle, a piece you hadn’t realized had been vacant until you’d found it. 

Everything had happened in a blur. You’d won Love Island with him, split the considerable cash prize with him, _married_ him with all your beloved friends surrounding you. You’d been whisked away to a beautiful honeymoon with several of your closest mates along for the ride, and afterwards, it had been hard to part from them. Those days had been pure bliss: waking up to Bobby’s fingers tracing the mountains of your spine, knowing Lottie and Gary and Ibrahim were just a room away, ready to start that day’s adventure. How hard it had been, to go home.

But you had.

Eventually you two decide that you should move to Glasgow, his charming hometown in Scotland, where you rent a flat together and have dinner with his family every other Sunday. You love them, especially his parents. His father is a quiet man, which is surprising considering how boisterous Bobby is, but who is hysterical in his own right and who is always pleased to let you tuck into the armchair next to his to watch the telly. His mother is a sturdy firecracker of a woman, and you love nothing more than taking a place beside her in the kitchen, kneading dough or happily tasting whatever concoction is bubbling on the stove.

His friends are a riot, and you spend many mornings with a pounding head and cheeks sore from smiling after spending a night out with them. They all adore you, or so Bobby gleefully informs you, each of them having teasingly taken to calling you by the sweet nickname that Bobby dubbed you with in the villa. It never cheapens it; you still can’t help how your stomach flutters when Bobby occasionally calls you the same.

You keep in touch with your friends from the villa, too. You’re both always delighted to hear from Lottie when she calls from the States during those precious hours where you’re both awake, and whenever Priya can carve out time from her busy schedule, she pops in to visit. Gary and his nan’s talk show leaves the pair of you in stitches, and when Ibrahim and Jo tie the knot, you two take the trip to attend the touching affair. Several nights you find yourself video-chatting and drinking bubbly with Marisol, and when you and Bobby decide that a puppy is in order, Shannon helpfully directs you to a cousin who’s a breeder. 

You bring home a darling Bernedoodle puppy who all too swiftly grows into a massive, goofy creature that Bobby dotes on. Some mornings you wake to find the bed empty, with a plate of your favorite breakfast food set lovingly on the bedside table. Always you find Bobby outside afterwards, cackling with joy as he plays fetch or chase with the dog (affectionately dubbed Mousse). On cool nights, the pair of you find yourselves cuddled up under woven blankets on the sofa, watching whichever film you fancy while Mousse snores at the other end of the couch. 

Some days are more difficult than others, of course. Though it’s not often, married life sometimes leads to arguments that make you feel as if your heart is breaking, because you can never stand seeing the smile slide from Bobby’s face. This always ends with you enfolded in his arms, his lips brushing gentle kisses across your forehead. There are days early on where his insecurities still plague him, where he tells himself that he doesn’t deserve you and confides that he’s so, _so_ afraid of losing you. You take care to nuzzle into bed with him, letting him be the little spoon as you play with his hair and whisper a recollection of your time in the villa, telling him in great detail how much every smile, every date, every kiss and word meant to you. And likewise, as the seasons change there come times where you find it difficult to rise from bed, when the sun is gone and everything is cold and your mood seems to spiral endlessly. He pulls you from these spirals with nose boops and jokes when he can, and when he can’t – he simply listens. Understands. Gives you space if you need it, and stays with you if you don’t.

You get through those days. You continue your beloved line of work, and Bobby resumes working as a caterer – for a while. Eventually, after you two have spent two blissful years together, you help him scout out a location for the bakery he’s always dreamed of owning. The place you find is a bit neglected and forlorn, but the pair of you spend every weekend remedying that. Underneath your hands, the floors are scrubbed and the walls are replaced and painted. This, of course, ends often with the pair of you breathless and laughing on the floor, covered head-to-toe in paint that’s smeared into the shape of handprints. It’s slow work, hard work, but you see it through. You scour the markets for furniture, for drapes, for rugs and utensils and plates, even calling in Chelsea on a few occasions to help with the interior design, until at last you stand with Bobby one frigid winter morning, cheeks flushed as you two behold the finished establishment.

You divide your time then between your work and helping him at the bakery. He’s irresistible when he’s leaned over the counters, apron coated with flour and dough smeared across one cheek, his amber eyes shining as he excitedly tells you about his newest pastry. Those are the nights when you can’t resist falling into his arms, your bodies melding together so perfectly beneath your lush duvet cover (and sometimes on top, because being underneath them reminds you both of stolen kisses and touches under the bed sheets in the villa).

These nights inevitably lead to you standing in the doorway of your bathroom, your eyes brimming with tears as you hold up a little plastic stick for Bobby to see, the pink plus saying everything that you’re too choked up to. He sweeps you into his arms, laughing and crying and smiling so big that you think you can see all of his teeth, and in the months that follow he is awed by you. He loves nothing more than to rub your feet when they’re sore, never minds indulging you in your strange cravings, lays his head on your bulging belly every night to tell your child his glorious puns. The pair of you settle on a name together – the very same that you picked for your baby challenge in the villa.

The labor is hard, but you soldier through, gripping Bobby’s hand a bit too tightly while his mother and your own dab your brow and brush your hair aside, and tell you to _push_. It’s a beautiful baby boy that you welcome into the world, and he grows to be the spitting image of Bobby – save for his eyes. You lament over that quietly, because even though you insist your son is _perfect_ , you so dearly love Bobby’s eyes. Bobby laughs and promises that the next will have them – he’s right. Your next child, three years later, is a bouncing baby girl with your hair color but Bobby’s texture, and eyes that are a perfect match to her father’s. 

For both children, Hope happily supplies a mass of toys that she’s designed, so many that you have to politely suggest a temporarily cease so as not to be run out of house and home (a larger home that the pair of you purchased, to be fair, shortly after your first pregnancy). There’s a spacious kitchen and a big yard and even a little library, which Noah stocks with ample books for the children as they grow. Hannah promises that once they’re large enough she’ll gift them ponies, but you and Bobby object to that on the basis of space, and she compromises by promising riding lessons instead.

There is no shortage of love and happiness in your children’s lives, or your own. The years pass slowly, or perhaps sometimes even too quickly, but they pass all the same. Your son and daughter are surrounded by numerous godparents (though you and Bobby chose your two closest friends from the villa for those actual, _legal_ roles) who dote on them at any given opportunity. The friendships you made prove to be strong and lasting, and there are several holidays where you somehow manage to get everyone together under one roof to celebrate and catch up.

If someone had asked you when you first entered the villa all those years ago if you’d anticipated something so precious, so pure, with Bobby McKenzie…well. He’d stolen your heart so effortlessly, but you’d had your own insecurities and worries, your own hopes and dreams that you feared being smashed to smithereens. If they had asked you afterwards if the cards you were dealt unfolded how you’d wished for them to…

You would have said no.

And you would have told them that what you got was so, _so_ much better than anything you could have ever imagined.


End file.
